Neil Holm

On the 7.30 Report last night, I watched the co-chair of the National Sorry Day committee, Helen Moran, tell her story.  She was born to a white mother and an Aboriginal father. She was taken from her family at 18 months of age.  Her story helped me remember incidents concerning what we now call the “Stolen Generations” from my past.

Two Half-Caste Girls
In 1968 I began teaching in an indigenous community on the northern edge of the Tanami Desert, south west of Katherine.  Today the community is called Lajamanu but then it was called Hooker Creek.  About 600 Warlpiri people and about 30 “whitefellas” lived there.  Among the children in the community were several mixed race (or as they were called then “half-caste”) kids.  Two of these kids were about 4 and 5 years old.  At various times in the year a strange feeling seemed to settle on the community and we’d notice that these two young “half-castes” were not to be seen.  In time, I realised that the strange feeling was fear and the children had been hidden for fear of them being taken away.  I do not know what provoked the fear.  It may have been an increase in police visits to the community.  It may have been increased visits by other government workers.  It may have been reports from other communities.  Whatever the cause, it had an unsettling effect at Hooker Creek.

An Aboriginal Teacher
My other profound contact with the Stolen Generations was an Aboriginal teacher in Darwin who helped me a great deal with my PhD research.  Djarea was born in 1942 in a small Gurindji community on the vast Wave Hill Station, 100 km north of Lajamanu. At age seven she was taken from her family and she did not seen them again until 1970.

Although she spent most of her life outside of the Gurindji world, she regarded herself as Gurindji. In many respects she exemplified the old Jesuit maxim, “Give me the child until he is seven and I will give you the man.” Her departure from, and her return to, her “country” were among the most significant events of her life. Her description of one usually evoked the other, and from these descriptions I have reconstructed her return.

Re-entry into Gurindji World
Djarea walked the 200 metres up the hill toward the settlement. She had not seen Wave Hill for twenty-three years. Her memories were those of a little creamy-brown-skinned seven-year-old: of her mother and her friends; of catching lizards and mice; of finding conkaberries and bush bananas; and of a few scattered phrases of Gurindji language. But the dominant memory was of a policeman saying, “Do you want to go for a ride?”; and, then, without opportunity to say goodbye to her mother, her brother or sister, or her aunties or uncles, of being driven to Darwin and taken, in her first boat ride, to the home for half-castes on Croker Island.

As she walked towards the settlement, she worried about her reception . Would anyone recognize her from the photos she had sent over the years? Her sister met her and led the way to the family and although there were some excited announcements, “Djarea come back! …Djarea come back!”, “Ah, you come back, Nangala?”, her reception was warm but subdued as if her return was expected although not anticipated, as if it was part of the order of things that everyone knew would one day come to pass.

They sat her down on a blanket in the dust outside of the humpies, gave her a pannikin of tea and they talked of how this one was “young man” now, how this one was “gettin big,” how another “got tree kid now” and so on. The photos and the letters were taken out of the powdered milk tin and Djarea’s past years were relived.

Entry into Half-Caste World
At Croker Island Djarea joined other mixed-race children in the half-caste home that was operated by the Methodist mission under the policy of the Northern Territory Administration. Half-caste homes were to assist part-Aboriginal children to assimilate into white Australian society. The children lived in dormitories under the supervision of mission staff, went to school, and as far as possible, were exposed to Western customs and traditions.

Djarea intimated that she resisted, perhaps in a subconscious way, the assimilationist influences. On her arrival she was given an English name and she did not reveal her Gurindji name. She attended school obediently and followed the mission routine but she remembered little of the efforts of the teachers and the other mission staff to assimilate her.

Her most vivid memories were of supplementing the dormitory diet with bush food from hunting and gathering expeditions after school and at weekends. She learned to live off the land: to catch magpie geese and pigeons, to find goose eggs and a range of other bush foods, to fish and to crab. She learned to enjoy the bush, to feel comfortable in it and to interpret its sounds. Even as an adult she translated a particular bird call as “Djarea!. …Djarea!. …Djarea!” She believed that “in the Aboriginal way that’s my old mother calling me” and so she often replied “I’m here!. …I’m here!. …I’m here!” She interpreted other birdcalls as indicators of the availability of game in certain places.

Although the half-caste home seemed to reinforce her Aboriginality, Djarea learned sufficient Western social skills for the mission to arrange a job for her as a domestic in a nursing home in Adelaide.

Entry into Whitefella World
Djarea’s move to Adelaide could well have been regarded by the mission staff as a successful assimilation effort. Her work in the nursing home was satisfactory. She coped with life in a major Australian city without too much difficulty. She met and married David, a shy white Australian diesel engineer. They settled in an Adelaide suburb where they later had two daughters. But Djarea wanted to return to the Northern Territory.  Not long after her return she made the trip to Wave Hill where she re-established her links with Gurindji world.

Gurindji: The Salient World
After 1970, Djarea continued her contact with the family at Wave Hill (renamed Kalkiringi about 1975). She visited for a few days on a number of occasions. At first she only knew the older women in her mother’s generation, and she continued to have the strongest relations with them. Nevertheless, she gradually came to know, and be known by, many of the younger people.

That Djarea called Kalkiringi “home,” that she made frequent visits, that she sought to maintain kin relationships, that she welcomed Kalkiringi visitors to town, that she referred to herself as a “freshwater” person rather than a “saltwater” person indicates a need to identify as Gurindji.

But at times the Gurindji needed Djarea, too. They called upon her to perform the role of broker, to mediate relationships between hinterland and Darwin. And she was willing, even eager to fulfil this role. When countrymen called on her services by arriving unexpectedly at the preschool, she warmly ushered them in, provided them with tea and perhaps a sandwich, and even took time off school to help them. She provided a cheque cashing service that frequently involved a time-consuming trip to the bank or even a trip home to get her chequebook and deposit book. With close kin, the visit home sometimes extended to a guided tour of the house, an offer of “take what you need,” and a pressing of gifts such as talcum powder, cosmetics, flour or meat.

Djarea’s worlds included Gurindji, Half-Caste, Whitefella and Teaching, and, although the years actually spent in the Gurindji world were comparatively few, they seem to have been formative. She spoke little Gurindji, her life in Darwin appeared, on the surface, to be very assimilated and yet, when I probed more deeply, I found the Gurindji world to be the most important. Her closest friends were her “countrymen” Lily and Henry. Her most satisfying leisure times were hunting or camping Aboriginal-style with other traditionally-oriented Aboriginal friends. She frequently prefaced her opinion on many issues with “In the Aboriginal way” by which she meant “In the traditional Aboriginal way.” At a yet deeper level, her philosophy of life matched the philosophy of assent that Stanner, a profound interpreter of the Aboriginal concept of The Dreamtime, has described as characteristic of traditional Aborigines (1953:35). Despite what I would call an abrupt uprooting from friends and family, despite subtle and not-so-subtle racial discrimination and prejudice, Djarea could never be described as xenophobic. She revealed no suggestion of self-pity, or that life was unjust, or that she was a victim of circumstances. Perhaps she had learned to be a little suspicious of white Australians, or–to describe her own perspective better–of the “government” or the “system,” but overall her philosophy seemed one of quiet acceptance, of giving assent to life as it was, rather than railing against it. In short, Djarea was more traditionally- oriented than might be expected.

Relevance?

So, why recall these stories on the Wellspring blog?  First, these little stories are not horrific, not unspeakably cruel.  It seems as though these three people were not immeasurably harmed by their experiences.  And yet, they reveal a fundamental injustice.  The two at Lajamanu and their families suffered unnecessary fear.  Djarea and her family suffered an unnecessary loss relationship.  Djarea suffered a loss of language and culture.  I know these people and I am sorry for what they have experienced.  I am glad at a personal level that the Australian Government is saying “sorry” on my behalf and on behalf of all Australians.  As a Christian, I am glad that this important step in reconciliation is being taken, that our Government is acting justly, that our Prime Minister seems to take the words of Micah seriously: he is leading us to be a just, merciful and humble nation.  I am glad that we are beginning to respond to the injury of our indigenous neighbours in the way that the Samaritan responded to the man lying by the roadside – even if I did not personally harm someone, I must offer healing by showing mercy, tenderness, and compassion.

Second, Ron Wilson, chairman of the inquiry into the Stolen Generation and Friend of the Wellspring Community, helped choose the report title: Bringing Them Home.  As I think of the experiences of Djarea and as I hear so many indigenous people say today, “I never thought I’d live to see this day”, I am reminded of the return home of the Hebrew exiles and the prodigal son.  I pray that God will continue to restore the fortunes of these people who went out weeping but have returned home today and that we will follow the lead of the father who ran with embarrassment, arms outstretched, welcoming and hugging the one who had been so long away.

Psalm 126 (A song of ascents): 1 When the LORD brought back the captives to Zion, we were like people who dreamed.  2 Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Then it was said among the nations, “The LORD has done great things for them.” 3 The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy. 4 Restore our fortunes,  O LORD, like streams in the Negev. 5 Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. 6 He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him.

Luke 15:11-32: “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.  21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’  22 “But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24 For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.